The Way The Body Sings
by LaFay97
Summary: She woke up with no memory in the Opera House Populair, No one knew her, or how she came to be there. As they try and discover who she is, a passion blossoms with the Phantom. "...I would sooner lose myself in awe before your talent, which I find very hard not to do." Erik/Oc Vampire!Erik
1. Rouge

**Rouge**

The solitary figure stalked through the dim secret passages as silently as a ghost. He was in no real rush, but sped along nevertheless. The Phantom's mind wandered into the compartment of his mind that was solely his Christine's, as it often did more times than he would care to admit.

The events of that night had happened three years ago, when he had finally understood that her love was not for him. _Never for him_. He still felt his heart wilt at the memory. She was everything he could have hoped for and he had driven her away with overbearing passion and obsession. She recoiled from his unmasked face. It was not even his only dark secret.

Where his face may force him to live outside the world, it was his nature that caused the most difference. For not only was he a monster to the eyes, but he was, in fact, a monster to his very blood, a vampire, and a demon from hell.

Where the Phantom feared the revealing of his face to anyone, he had grown used to his vampiric nature. It was as a part of his as his face, but far easier to conceal. And blood was so easy to find in the slums of Paris, where folk who drank enough to not remember offered themselves up for a miserly sum.

The Phantom was so lost in his thoughts, that when he tripped over something, he only had just enough time to react and stop his face from hitting the ground. Gracefully realigning his body, he turned to look at the cause of his accident. To his utter surprise, he found that it was the unconscious form of a woman.

The Opera Ghost moved silently to inspect the body closer. She was still alive, he deduced from the movement of her chest. It was almost impossible to see in the darkness of the hall way what the woman looked like. Her hair fell over her face, hiding it from his view.

"What would she be doing here?" the Phantom mumbled to himself. His voice echoing lightly, sounding strange as it interfered with the silence. For once, he was unsure of quite what to do. Perhaps calling Madame Giry would be better suited to the situation? He looked over her once again and frowned. She did not appear to be a member of the cast or crew. Nor did he recognise her as a prominent member of the patronage here at the Opera Populair. He made note to know these things. Which of course left the question, why was she here?

Making a rather rash decision, he picked her up gently. Her unconscious form against him was warmer than he expected. Did she have a fever? She was also far lighter than he expected. Unsure about the decision he was making he began his decent into his lair. He easily avoided all his clever traps down to the lake. Carefully, he placed her in the boat. And took up his post at the oar. He watched her cautiously as she lay. Making sure she would not roll in her sleep and cause the boat to capsize. But she appeared unmoving.

When he had successfully pulled up on the shore of his home, he scooped up the mysterious woman and went to the spare bedroom. The figure lowered the woman onto the bed and stepped back slightly. The light was more prominent here than it had been in the halls. He could now see her truly. For a moment, all he did was stare as this unconscious angel. Her red hair was spread beneath her head, standing out even against the black satin sheets. Her skin was a beautiful creamy white colour, with flushes of light pink to her cheeks and a darker pink to her lips.

The Phantom forced himself to look away. Had he so easily forgotten his Christine's beauty? Yet, looking down once more upon the unconscious girl, he found that, in her presence, yes. It would be very easy.

Where he would normally feel guilty and disgusted for appreciating her beauty, he found those feelings did not come. It was as if it were the most natural thing on earth to look upon her. Not just for him, but anybody would have trouble looking away. She was created to be gazed upon.

The Phantom easily accepted her beauty, for even he could not deny it. So he simply turned and left the room, leaving her to rest in peace. The Opera Ghost found his way to his music room and began silently composing, his fingers tapping the air above the key as his memory played the sounds. He did not want to wake the woman.

The next morning, Phantom pulled his self away from the desk he had fallen asleep against. The memories of the night before came back to him and he stood immediately. Quickly straightening himself he prepared breakfast and made his way to the woman's room. He entered the room quietly. She was still asleep. He crossed the floor and set the tray on the bedside. He drew up a large black covered chair and waited.

The woman woke slowly. Her eyelids fluttered and her well-arched eyebrows drew together, barely making a crease. Her tongue shot out and deftly licked her dry lips. The Opera Ghost caught the movement and felt heat in his stomach spread outward like electricity. The woman sat up slowly not yet opening her eyes, her delicate hand ran through her thick, long hair and she finally opened her eyes. The Phantom could not hold back a gasp as her thick, dark lashes flickered open. Her eyes were the most enchanting shade of blue; they were almost violet. The woman's eyes suddenly became filled with fear and confusion.  
"What? How-I-I…oh, god!" She mumbled quickly and sporadically under her breath, her eyes darting around the room.

The Phantom placed a gloved hand on top of hers, but she did not seem to notice. He removed the glove and tried again, in hopes to calm her down, especially considering he had yet to notice him. What a danger that could be to her health if she were in the home of a far less kind soul?

Her gaze locked onto his and her breathing slowing instantly, though tears ran down her face all the same.  
"My dear, be calm. You are safe."  
"I-I…where am I?" she asked in a whisper. She did not appear to be afraid of him, which made the Phantom think that she was quite possibly mad.  
"You are beneath the Opera Populair," he informed her in his most calming, rhythmic voice. The trick seemed to have worked, because her tears slowed and she nodded slowly.  
"Where is that?" she asked innocently. The Phantom frowned.  
"Why, it is in Paris, child."  
"Paris?" Her eyebrows drew together once again as she tried to remember. Her eyes lit slightly in recognition.  
"Yes, yes…and…ah, who are you, Monsieur?" she asked delicately.  
"You…may call me Phantom, for now," he felt the need to tell her his name, but decided against it at the last minute. No matter how beautiful she was or how delicate and innocent she looked, he could not trust her.  
"Phantom," she said the name softly, "I am to believe that is not your true name, correct, Monsieur?"  
"Correct," he replied honestly. She smiled softly.  
"I see. Do you, perhaps, sir, know me?" this question was asked with more hesitation than he expected.  
"No, my dear, I do not."  
"Ah…" she remained silent for a long time. Just when the Phantom thought she was going to never speak, she did.  
"I would introduce myself, Monsieur, but I am afraid I would have trouble introducing someone I do not know, myself."  
"What do you mean, my dear?" he asked in confusion.  
"My name, Monsieur. I do not remember it."

The Phantom was unsure of how to respond to such a statement.  
"Mademoiselle, do you remember anything before awakening here?" she shook her head solemnly.  
"Then what am I to call you?" he asked in a hint of amusement. Her gaze dropped to his hand atop of hers.  
"You call yourself Phantom, though you are not. So you may call me something I am not," she said with a smile. The Phantom frowned. How relaxed was she, especially in his presence? It was almost unsettling.  
"Shall I call you _ugly_?" the words slipped out of his mouth in a flirtatious whisper before he could stop them. The woman blushed and smiled playfully.  
"No, no, Monsieur! What a rather hard task, indeed. For neither of us know me enough to come up with an appropriate name that is opposite me, why don't you simply choose something?"

_What an odd woman_, he thought. He pondered over a temporary name to call the girl, simply because it seemed to keep her mind off crying. Which was a relief indeed.  
"Rouge, for your red hair?" He suggested. It was not very creative, but it would do for now. The woman beamed.  
"Yes, Rouge, that would do nicely, thank you." Her face fell. The Phantom frowned, unsure of what he should do in this circumstance.  
"What do you wish to do, Rouge?" he asked.  
"I am unsure…" The Opera Ghost sighed.  
"Well, I think it would be best to take you to someone up stairs. Someone may recognise you, or at least know what to do," he spoke calmly but her hand clench slightly.  
"If you think so, Phantom."

"Now, you must understand I have to do this," he told her as he wrapped a cloth over her eyes.  
"I cannot yet trust you dear, and I would hate to think you'd reveal my location to anyone." She nodded trustingly and he guided her to the boat. She did not seem perplexed at being blindfolded. In fact, many of her attitudes were far too relaxed to be comforting to the Phantom. Perhaps she had also forgotten the basics of stranger danger. However, her naivety did make it easier to assist her. Anyone else would be demanding to know who he was, and being immediately dubious of his intentions.

What _were_ his intentions, he wondered. It was unusual to help so blindly if he did not have some plan motivating him.  
"My dear Phantom, you are so silent. All I can hear is the water." Her voice had a pleasant virtuoso quality, despite her rather husky voice. He did not know such a voice could sound so sensual. He had heard other women with this kind of voice and they had just annoyed him. He figured it was the musical quality to it that was her saving grace.  
"Thinking, Mademoiselle," he replied quietly.

The Phantom carefully led her through the passages and out into one of the dressing rooms, where he untied her blindfold. She blinked at the sudden light, even cringed from it. Rouge had decided that she liked the darkness of Phantom's home. It was oddly comforting to her. The light was too real. It reminded her of her situation.

He led her through the Opera House in search of Madame Giry. He made sure to stick with shadows and passages, not wanting to be discovered. Most believed he had left after the fire, but when they had extinguished the flames, he returned to repair. He also made sure his halls that lead to his home were more heavily trapped than ever before.

Finally he found the woman he was looking for, she was walking down the hall to get to her ballet lessons. Her girls were far less satisfactory recently; she had increased their studies as retaliation.

"Madame Giry," the Phantom spoke in a low tone and it was different to the way he spoke to Rouge, and she found it enchanting. The way it held his power in two words. The old woman jumps in freight before turning around ready to lecture her old friend, before she notice he was escorting a young woman with him. Madame Giry felt wary at this, hoping he would not repeat his mistake again. But upon examining the girl, she seemed so confused, yet comfortable. Which was something she did not think anyone could be in his presence.  
"Phantom, how can I help you?" she asked carefully.  
"Last night I found this young woman passed out in one of the passages. When she awoke, it appeared she did not remember who she was or where she had come from."

Madame Giry looked over the girl once more. She was an incredibly beautiful young creature. Far surpassing any of the other women at the Opera House. She had a graceful body with surprising curves. If you had seen her from afar, you would think she was tall. But up close, she was not; in fact she was rather short. Which stood out in great contrast to the Phantom. But, alas, Madame Giry did not recognise her.

"My dear, you must be frightened, why do you not come with me?" she reached out her hand, but Rouge flinched back, taking half a step behind the Phantom. Although this action was involuntary, she blushed with guilt. Her actions surprised the old Ballet instructor; she did not expect the girl to hide behind her old friend.  
"I apologise," the woman said softly to Madam Giry, who looked suspiciously towards an equally confused Phantom.  
"I'm afraid I do not know what to do with you, child. I suppose we could find you work here in the Opera House until you remember or someone comes looking for you?" was all she could suggest. Rouge looked towards the Phantom who nodded slightly.  
"That would be lovely, Madame," the girl said with a sweet smile.


	2. Backstage Dancing

**Backstage Dancing**

Rouge woke up the next morning with a feeling of excitement and nervousness. Today she would start as an assistant to the hair Mistress, whose name Rouge could not recall so early. She looked around her floral room with a small amount of distaste. This was one thing she was finding she knew about herself. She did not have fondness for pale or light things.

She got dressed and put up her hair. She was in a fairly simply forest green dress with crème highlights and a bow around her waist. She looked into the mirror and smiled.  
"So nice to meet you, Rouge," she greeted her self in the reflection. She giggled at her joke then skipped her way to the backstage area. Her mind wandered to the Phantom. She knew she was far too at ease with him, but he was so interesting to her. Being the first person she encountered since she lost her memory was a man who called himself the Phantom, it was not a surprise. Though, the thought of his mask made her sad. It seemed a shame to hide part of ones self. Rouge wondered what was behind the mask.

When she spotted a middle aged woman beckoning her over, Rouge broke out of her thoughts and went over to her. The woman had brunette hair sprinkled with grey strands. Her eyes were a soft brown and her face held laugh lines.  
"My dear, my dear, welcome to the Opera Populair. I know that you have joined us in such unusual circumstances, but do not worry; you will easily be accepted here."  
"Merci," Rouge said with a smile. The hair stylist pursed her lips in parody.  
"My, my, you are much too pretty! The managers will most likely sweep you away to the front of stage!" the older woman flattered. Rouge laughed because she did not hear the sincerity of the statement.

Rouge found that she would not have much to do most of the time, as there was no show in currently. Though one was being rehearsed, it was nowhere near time for dress rehearsals. So, instead, she decided to go wandering. She was beginning to find out quite a lot about herself. For instance, she knew she loved exploring, she hated pastels, and she adored the smell of vanilla and cinnamon. And oddly, she rather liked the smell of leather, finding it reminded her of the Phantom. And on that thought a blush rose to her face.

She also knew she was not afraid of heights, as she was currently high up above the stage, on the rafters. A lady would not be so careless and bold. But Rouge did not know whether she _was_ a Lady, so she decided to pretend she wasn't.

Rouge looked out over the stage and the audience. It was amazing up here; she could see the ballet girls beneath practicing to a lovely bit of music. This was where Rouge discovered her talent…

As the song played, Rouge danced above them on the rigs, her feet never straying from where she wanted to go. She felt an absolute rush at the danger of her actions. Yet, the music carried her body, making it move in magical ways. She did not even realise that the ballet girls had noticed her until one of them screamed. Rouge jerked in surprise and her foot slipped on the rig, she just managed to grab a hold of the rigs to keep herself from falling. Everyone was making such commotion below her, that they did not see when someone grabbed her arms and pulled her up.

Rouge looked to her saviour to find the Phantom. She beamed at him, but his angry glare made her face fall. He grabbed her arm and pulled her off the rigging and swept her into a secret passage. When they were inside, the Phantom took hold of her shoulder. Though he did not slam her into the wall, he did press her there.  
"What on Earth were you thinking, Rouge?" he asked in a quietly angry voice.  
"I-I'm sorry, I was just exploring."  
"On top of the rigging? Why on earth would you fool around up there?" Rouge felt deeply ashamed and did not tell him about her adrenaline rush.  
"I'm so sorry, Phantom!" she pleaded. He let go of her and took a step back, as he did, he relaxed completely.  
"They had put you in the wrong department, my dear, your talents clearly lie in dancing. I have no doubt if that Ballet Rat had not screamed; you would have had no problem. However," he said as she lit up, "do not dance up there again."  
"Yes, Monsieur." She agreed with a smiled. He sighed.  
"Are you not even the slightest bit wary of me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Rouge thought for a moment.  
"I have lost my memory, I am wary around everyone. However, much less you than everyone else."  
"Why? For all you know I could have been the one responsible for your memory loss," he stated in a small amount of agitation to hide his shock at her statement.  
"Were you?" she asked bluntly, taking a step towards him and raising her brow. The Phantom looked at her in the semi dark and could feel desire wash through him. Her cheeky smile and her cat eyes...the way she danced. He could just-

He shook his head, Rouge took that to mean that he was not responsible, which he wasn't, but that was not why he shook his head. This girl was a temptress in disguise; he just did not know it until then. Though he doubted she knew.  
"Come, my dear, the fools who run my Opera house shall be wondering where you are," he spoke softly. Rouge smirked at the term 'my opera house', but followed him anyway.

By the end of the day, word had gotten around about the 'Talented New Rouge'. The ballet girls flocked to her to question where she had learned, what her diet was, etc. Madame Giry was still surprised at the rather random discovery of her talent. Not because of the situation in which it was discovered, but by the fact that she did not dance ballet. It was something unusual, foreign, and far more provocative than she expected from the polite girl.

"My dear Rouge, I would love to teach you, but I'm afraid that I do not recognize your style?"  
"I am not sure, Madame Giry," she said honestly when the girls had left. The woman nodded.  
"You must have learnt it before. I am unsure what to do with you, I'm afraid. Your dancing is unique and wonderful, but as a ballerina, it would be hard to train you out of it."  
"It's fine, I prefer keeping backstage," Rouge lied.

As Rouge finally made her way back to her room, she met the Phantom once again.  
"My dear, what is the verdict with your discovered talent?"  
"Madame Giry is unsure what to do with me, she says that it would be hard for me to learn ballet, because it is so different to my style." The Phantom frowned.  
"It is Spanish dancing, is it not?" Rouge's violet-blue eyes widened.  
"I-I am unsure," she confessed. The Phantom smirked.  
"Alas, one thing I cannot teach!" he said, although the thought saddened him. Rouge smiled.  
"Are you a teacher, Phantom?"  
"Of music, yes, of dance? No."  
"Perhaps I could teach you," she jested, although if he asked, she would say yes.  
"Me? Dancing?" He thought to the way she danced. To dance like that with a partner would be…intimate.  
"It would be fun," Rouge coaxed. _Fun indeed_.  
"Perhaps you could give me a demonstration instead. One where I am not worried you will fall and break something," he suggested, expecting her to refuse.  
"I will. I shall find a piece of music and then I will dance for you," he husky voice made this fairly innocent statement, sound likes a much darker promise. He felt heat spark along his skin.  
"That would be a treat, Mademoiselle," he told her as he wandered away into his dark shadows.

Rouge found it funny as people tried to determine whether she was naïve and innocent or not. She was certainly not a Harlot, and she was still Virtuous (as far as she could tell), but she was not ignorant to passion, or desire, or what adults did behind closed doors. She was, after all, an adult. So, yes, she knew that what she had said was flirty, but with the Phantom, she couldn't help it. Even though she now knew that what lay under the mask, was in fact, deformity, (the ballet girls had told her of the Phantom Of The Opera) she did not care. She felt desire for him that had little to do with something so menial as his face. Though she would admit, he was very handsome. It was actually strange to think that there was something that deformed his face that way when the rest of it was so attractive.

Rouge was excited about dancing for the Phantom; she knew also what her dancing imitated. Which was why Madame Giry was confused by her style, having been unfamiliar with it. Although Rouge did not remember learning it, or what style it was, she knew it was sensual. This made her want to perform for the Phantom even more. There was worry, however. She was definitely afraid he would reject her, call her a silly child, a statement she disliked anyway, and send her away. She did not know her affect on the man.

Meanwhile, thinking on it now, as the Phantom lay on his bed in his lair, he began to suspect that Rouge would have been perfect for Don Juan Triumphant, if she could sing. He pushed the thought aside, however, as it brought up the memory of Christine. My, how his head had been so filled with the beautiful red head he had almost forgotten his Christine!

Now, fully awake with no hope of resting, he left his room to compose. Along the way, he spotted something on the stone in the candlelight. He bent to pick up the object and found that it was a very plain ring. He wondered where it had come from.

Rouge, perhaps? It looked too simple to be a wedding band (which he found he was far too relieved over), so it must be some kind of sentimental thing. He pocketed and decided to return it to her later.

He sat down at his organ and began to play a light melody, which slowly turned into a darker, but sensual piece that reminded him of Rouge's dancing.

His thirst hit him like a punch, his hands dropped on random keys, making a horrifying sound. He could usually go more days without feeding… yet; he knew _hungers_ were very easily replaceable with each other. He had been fantasizing about Rouge's dancing too much, but with that desire not being fulfilled, his body decided to turn to another hunger.


End file.
